The Constant
by Riza's Cupcakes
Summary: When Roy's memory disappears, the only thing left is a name: Riza Hawkeye. More of an AU than a crossover. Written for Royai Week 2014.


Roy woke lightning flashed outside. His head snapped up, but whatever he might have expected to see, the inside of a helicopter cutting through a storm above the ocean was far from it. He looked over to see an unfamiliar man in the pilot's seat, fighting to keep control of the helicopter. Throwing off his headgear, Roy struggled against his seatbelt. This couldn't be happening—he couldn't even remember how he had gotten here. He finally managed to undo the buckles and a hand grabbed his shoulder from behind. He turned around, terrified by the stranger who looked at him with such familiarity.

"What do you think you're doing, Mustang?" he asked.

Roy jerked away. "How do you know my name?" He fought to stand but the stranger held him in the seat.

"We're still in the air. Sit down."

The helicopter turned toward a ship far below. Roy clenched his fists tighter until he felt something crumple in his hands. He stopped struggling and looked at the paper, curious as to whether or not it contained an answer to how he might have gotten here. He smoothed it and found a nearly-ruined photograph. White creases spread from top to bottom, nearly obscuring his face, but thankfully—thankfully the other face was clear. _Riza. _He could remember her, at least.

Roy lifted two boxes from the truck, exactly the way he had been told not to so many times before. But the Madame wasn't watching and he wanted to get this over with. He stepped up onto the curb, stumbling forward into a young woman who yelped in surprise. Still on her feet, she managed to catch the top box.

"You should watch where you're going," she said. Her brown eyes caught the sunlight, revealing flecks of gold that rendered Roy incapable of speech for a few moments.

"I—I'm terribly sorry, Miss," he stammered when he found his tongue again. "I shouldn't have taken two at once."

She looked at him for a moment before lifting the box she had rescued. "Then I'll carry this."

"Thanks. My name's Roy, by the way." He nodded for her to go inside first.

"Riza," she said.

The blades slowed to a halt overhead, but Roy made no effort to undo his seat. A man raced across the deck, but he wasn't familiar either. The only face he knew was Riza's, etched into his memory as though she was supposed to be here. And maybe she was—he hoped she was—but that didn't tell him where he was or who his companions were.

"Why did you come back? And who are those two?" asked the man on deck.

"They're survivors. From flight 815," the pilot explained.

Roy began unfastening his seatbelt once more, but this time no one stopped him. He jumped down onto the deck and his companions followed.

"Why did you bring them here?" the shipman asked. "You know you weren't supposed to—"

Roy blinked in confusion. Was there something dangerous? Had he been taken hostage? The motion of the ship through the waves and the blinding sunlight that spread through the sky and reflected off the water did nothing to help his disoriented mind. "Where am I?" he asked, the words as much a plea as a question.

"He's losing his mind," the pilot explained. "One minute he was fine, and then there was a storm and it's as if he can't remember anything except his own name." He reached into his pocket, removing a pack of cigarettes.

The shipman nodded. "I understand. One of our guys—he's the same way. Let's get this one below so Marcoh can take a look at him too."

They led Roy away from the helicopter; reluctant though he was to trust him, he at least hoped getting inside would help. Wherever he was, the sun was too bright. He couldn't quite remember the place he was certain he had come from, but he knew the blinding light was wrong. With one hand in his pocket, he clutched the photo tighter. Even though nothing else in the world made sense, he still had the memory of Riza to keep him steady. Fluorescent lights replaced sunshine as Roy stepped inside, picking his way carefully down the metal stairs with unfamiliar hands grabbing at his shoulders. They guided him into the sickbay where one man lay strapped to a bed. Roy stiffened, turned to run, but they had already locked the door behind him.

"Let me go!" Roy shouted. "Please—this is wrong. Let me go!"

The man on the bed turned his head to regard him sadly. "It's happening to him too, isn't it, Breda?"

This stranger was clearly out of his mind. He couldn't possibly know what Roy was going through. He paused for a moment to steady himself, closing his eyes as he drew in a deep breath so he could explain that he had done nothing to deserve such a fate as had befallen the other man in the ward.

Roy's eyelids fluttered open when he felt rain on his face. _That's better_, he thought, relieved to be back where he was supposed to be. The helicopter dream that had spiraled out of control after he had gotten his entire unit in trouble earlier that morning washed away with the rain soaking his hair and uniform, but he couldn't quite rid his nose of the ocean air. And from the swarm of unfamiliar faces, Riza's stood out as a beacon to him, driving him through the mud to the base's payphone. He jammed coins into the slot, dialed the number he could never forget, no matter how much of a coward he was for leaving her for the military.

"Hello?" Riza's voice soothed him even more than the rain.

He clutched the receiver closer to his ear. "Riza? Is it really you?"

"Roy," she said, her tone suddenly sour. "Why did you call me?"

"Something's happening. I don't understand, but I think I'm losing my mind. I need to see you, Riza. Please." He had to make her believe him, had to convince her to let him back into her life. She was the only chance he had at reconciling the strange, confusing reality he wasn't entirely sure he believed in.

"I can't do this again, Roy. Not after you left me like that. No warning, just a notice that you'd enlisted? Why would I want to see you again after that?" Her voice seemed to crack on the last word. For a moment, he almost believed it was something in the phone line, but he could tell she was still hurting, still reeling from his betrayal.

"I'm on leave. I could come and see you—try to make things right."

"No," she said. "No. Don't bother. I've moved anyway, and I don't really feel like sharing my new address with you right now."

He couldn't see her, but he knew from experience that she was rubbing the space between her eyebrows with two fingers. Exasperated, she was exasperated. And he couldn't blame her for it after everything he had put her through.

"I have to go, Roy. Please don't call me again. I'm—goodbye," she said. Apparently she'd thought better of telling him more about her emotional state, or whatever it was she had been about to say.

But the line hadn't clicked, and he still had a little time left before his phone disconnected. "Don't hang up, Riza. Please don't hang up. I need to see—"

"You." The ship reappeared and he noticed the doctor for the first time, a man with a syringe bent over the other patient. It was miserably hot in the sick bay, but he still felt as though some of the icy rain had carried over into this strange world as Riza's rejection echoed in his mind.

The doctor looked up.

"It's not just me, Marcoh," the man on the bed insisted. "He's got it too. It's that godforsaken island and it's going to make every single one of us insane before too long."

Marcoh nodded as though he'd heard this all before. "I need you to hold still. This will only take a moment."

"No, please. Don't!" The man struggled against the straps as Marcoh prepared to inject him. He jabbed the wriggling man's arm; he relaxed instantly, sinking deeper into the thin mattress as Marcoh turned back to Roy.

"I hear you're experiencing the same symptoms," he said.

Roy eyed the syringe warily. "You're not going to tranquilize me too, are you?"

"No," said Marcoh, discarding the used needle before turning back to Roy. "You're not that far gone yet so I'll start small. Let me look at your eyes." When Roy nodded his consent, Marcoh lifted first one, then the other eyelid, shining a bright light into each pupil. "What's your name?"

"Roy Mustang," he said, relieved that this man didn't know him either. It was comforting, in a way, to know that only his companions from the helicopter with did. At least it gave him a more even footing with the people he met on the ship; he wouldn't have to worry or wonder about how much they knew of his life, especially the possibility that they knew more than he did at the moment.

As if reading his mind, the two men from the helicopter strode into the room, the man with the strange scar watching Roy intently while the pilot spoke into a satellite phone.

"Get out," Marcoh ordered them. "What on earth are you thinking, Havoc? You know you're not supposed to be in here with him."

The pilot—Havoc—held his hand over the receiver. "No can do, doc. I've got Falman on the phone and he needs to talk to—"

"No. That's the last thing he needs right now. Please leave." Marcoh stood, presumably to escort them out of the room, but the other two were quicker. The scarred man shoved him against a wall and held him there while Havoc thrust the phone into Roy's hand.

"Hello?" Roy said.

"Hello, Roy," said a serious voice with only the slightest undercurrent of urgency. "This is Vato Falman. We met yesterday, but you don't remember me. Is that correct?"

Roy shook his head, forgetting for a moment that he was speaking on the phone. "I don't, sorry."

"I know we don't have long," Falman said, "so I'll keep this short. What year do you think this is?"

"What do you mean think?" Roy scoffed. "It's 1996, same as it's been since January."

"I see…Could you tell me where you are? It's 1996 and you're obviously on the boat right now, but you remember being somewhere else, don't you?"

The lights in the sickbay seemed to dim, as though the rainy morning had followed Roy here and all he needed to see it was validation that he wasn't completely out of his mind. That someone understood. "I'm in the army. At a camp, just north of Glasgow."

"When you go back, I need you to find me. Can you do that, Roy?" Falman asked.

"Yes, I think so. Where are you?"

"The Queen's College physics department at Oxford. But you'll have to prove it's you," Falman said. "When you get there, I need you to tell me to set the device to 2.342."

"What device?" Roy asked. "What the hell are you—?"

"And that it has to oscillate at eleven hertz. Have you got that? 2.342 and eleven hertz?"

Roy repeated the numbers, first to himself under his breath and then louder, into the receiver. "Is that it?" 

"Perfect, Roy. But if that's not enough to convince me, I need you to tell me that you know about Eloise. It's crucial that you don't forget about Eloise."

Marcoh slipped past his guard and yanked the phone away from Roy before he could respond.

The phone that slipped from Roy's hand was slick with rain. He hung it up properly before running out to the road. The rain didn't let up until he reached the train station, where he counted out wet bills for a one-way to Oxford. He took the ticket and boarded the train. The countryside sped past in a drizzly mist, the grey sameness stretching the hours into what felt like several days. All the while, he stared out the window, hoping it wouldn't disappear. He had to find Falman before he ended up like the man in the sick bay bed.

When he arrived at the university, stiff and tired, he trudged across the campus until he found the office marked with Falman's name. Roy knocked on the door. It swung open a moment later. "Can I help you?" Falman asked.

"I believe so," Roy said. "I'm Roy Mustang, and y—er, someone—told me to find you here. Something strange has been going on. I think—I think I've been to the future." As soon as he said the words, his situation made sense. Well, as much sense as time travel could make. At least it explained the question about year he thought it was.

Falman shook his head, but at least he looked more amused than annoyed. "The future," he repeated. "Are you sure?"

"I am. We talked there. You told me you could help me if I came to Oxford."

"Then why didn't I help you in the future?" he asked with arms folded across his chest. "It seems like a lot of trouble to put you through, sending you into the past. If you don't mind, please tell the person who sent you to try harder next time. I honestly expected better from my colleagues."

"What are you talking about?" Roy asked. "I'm telling you, _you _sent me. You told me to set your device to 2.342, oscillating at eleven hertz."

Falman's face paled slightly. "Who told you those numbers?"

Roy could tell this conversation was going nowhere fast. He took one last, deep breath and said, "I know about Eloise."

Falman's eyes widened in surprise. "You'd better come in," he said, waving Roy through the door and pulling it shut quickly. Equipment hummed all around them as Falman donned a heavy coat.

"What's that?" Roy asked.

"To protect me from the radiation. Don't worry—you don't need one," Falman said, cutting off Roy's response when he noticed the concern on his face. "It's only necessary for prolonged exposure."

Roy wasn't completely convinced. "If you say so."

Falman reached into a small cage beside one of the machines, retrieving a white rat. "This is Eloise," he explained, placing the animal in a maze. He flicked a few switches and the machine whirred to life. "Now, let's hope those numbers you gave me are right."

"What happens if they aren't?" Roy asked.

"Nothing," Falman said. "But if they are, she'll end up like you."

"You mean the time thing?" Roy asked.

Falman nodded, eyes still on Eloise as she sniffed the door of her containment area. He pressed a button, illuminating the rat in a blinding purple light. When it stopped, she slumped over, unconscious. After a few moments, she woke up and Falman let her into the maze. She raced through it quickly, effortlessly, and Falman stared at her in amazement. "Incredible. Simply incredible. Thank you," he said, turning to Roy.

"I'm sorry, how is that incredible?"

"I finished building this maze a few hours ago. I haven't even shown it to her yet. I'm planning to do so an hour from now," Falman said.

"So that means you sent her to the future," Roy said.

"Just her mind." Still watching the rat, Falman felt for an eraser in the tray of the chalkboard beside the maze. He erased several equations while Roy watched, confused.

"I don't understand," he said. "How is this supposed to help me?"

"Help you? Didn't I send you here to tell me those numbers?" Falman asked.

Roy felt as trapped as the rat at the end of her maze. This was his answer? A physicist so wrapped up in his own experiments he didn't even realize how awful it felt to be torn between two times with the memories of one completely wiped away? "I guess you did, but I thought you were trying to stop this from happening to me, not to put the finishing touches on your science project."

"Give me the phone."

Roy was spared from Falman's reaction to his outburst for the moment, but he didn't want to be back on the ship either. He tried to resist, but Breda took the phone anyway.

"Hey, I think everybody just needs to calm down," said Havoc, looking from Roy to the man who had taken the phone. "Falman wanted to talk to Roy, and I think we should trust his judgment."

Breda almost dropped the phone. "You let him talk to Falman?"

Havoc held up his hands. "In my defense, he said he could help."

"Falman can't help anybody," Marcoh muttered.

"Come on, Havoc. The captain wants to have a word with you," said Breda .

The scarred man folded his arms across his chest. "And I want to speak with your captain."

"I'll let him know," Breda promised. "But just have a seat for now." He escorted Havoc and Marcoh from the room, making sure the door locked behind them.

Roy picked up the small light Marcoh had left behind. It probably wouldn't do any good, but he shined it into his eyes anyway. "I have to get back," he said, more to himself than to anyone else.

"To the island?" asked the scarred man.

"He said he could help me figure out what to do. I have to go back so I can convince him," Roy said, his breathing even more rapid than his speech.

"What are you talking about, Roy?"

"Roy? Are you Roy?" asked the man on the bed.

"I am," Roy said. "And who are you?"

"Kain Fuery, the communications officer. Before all this started happening, all the calls on the ship were through me. But sometimes there was this light on the console, an incoming call I wasn't supposed to answer. The captain said he'd have my head if I did." Fuery struggled against the straps as though he wanted to sit up. "I never talked to her, but I heard enough. Those calls were from someone who was looking for you; your girlfriend, Riza Hawkeye."

Roy's breath hitched for a moment, but he didn't have time to voice any of the questions forming in his mind.

He woke up in Falman's office, slumped forward with his arms and head on a desk in front of the office chair he didn't remember sitting in. "How did I get here?"

"You passed out for over an hour there," Falman explained. "You almost fell, but I caught you and carried you here. I assume you were in the future again."

"For five minutes," Roy said. "Definitely not an hour."

Falman tapped his chin thoughtfully. "It's getting harder for you to find your way back to either time whenever your consciousness jumps."

"Is that what happened to Eloise?" Roy asked, gesturing to the limp rat on the desk. "How did she die?"

"It looks like a brain aneurism brought on by her confusion, but I won't know for certain until I perform an autopsy," Falman said.

A wave of panic surged through Roy. "So that's what's going to happen to me, right? Either here or on that boat."

"I'm not sure," Falman said, taking a step back. "She seemed confused, as though her mind couldn't tell the difference between past and future anymore. She didn't have an anchor?"

"What's that supposed to mean? What kind of anchor?" Roy asked. He couldn't think of two situations more different than this office and the sickbay.

"Something that's familiar." Falman tapped the chalkboard with his fingertips. "All these equations are full of variables, but you can't make sense of any of them without a constant. You need one too. So when you go back, you have to find something that's as important to you as it is now in 1996."

He thought of the photograph, of the call Fuery wasn't allowed to answer. _Riza. _"Can a person be my constant? If there's someone I love who's looking for me in the future, can she help me?"

"I don't see why not," Falman said. "But you'd have to make contact with her. Didn't you just say you were on a boat in the future?"

Roy ignored him, picked up the desk phone. He dialed the numbers without even thinking,

"Who are you calling?" Falman asked as Roy put the phone to his ear.

"Who do you think?"

The line rang several times before it went dead. "Your call cannot be completed. The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected," a recorded voice said. Of course. How could he have forgotten? Riza might be looking for him in the future, but here in 1996, she never wanted to hear from him again. With trembling hands, he hung up the phone, then stormed out of the office without even bothering to say goodbye. He barely managed to make it to the stairs before his mind gave out.

"Welcome back," Fuery said when Roy came to in the sickbay.

"You've got to help me. I need to get ahold of Riza," Roy pleaded. Somewhere behind him, he heard a snort of derision.

"This is hardly the time to call your girlfriend," the scarred man said.

"Look, I don't know you, but you know me, and you both seem to know Falman. He's the one who told me I need to contact her, but I can't do it alone," Roy said. "I need your help."

"Hold up a minute," Fuery said. "I'm afraid I sabotaged the communications equipment two days ago."

Roy's heart sank. He would never see Riza again; he'd end up dead just like Eloise. A morbid part of his mind wondered whether they'd find his body back in 1996 as well. Not that anyone would care, except for Falman, of course. And maybe Christmas too, even though he hadn't been to visit her since he had joined the army. "Can anything be done to salvage it?" he asked, trying not to get his hopes up too much.

"Maybe. It's only one deck up, and I could take you there if you get me out of this bed."

Roy undid the straps as quickly as he could with clumsy fingers. "Didn't they lock the door?" he asked as Fuery sat up.

"They did, but someone came back," Fuery said, pointing. Roy looked over his shoulder to see the sickbay door wide open. When he looked back, he noticed thin stream of blood trickling from Fuery's nose.

"Uh, are you alright?" Roy asked.

"We should get out of here," the scarred man cut in before Fuery could say anything. "Someone might come back to lock—"

At least Roy hadn't fallen down too many stairs when he blacked out. His ankle was twisted but, thankfully, not sprained. He raced down the rest of the way, hoping he at least had the time to make it to London.

When he made it, Roy took care crossing each street, and by the time he reached the headquarters of Hawkeye Industries, he was certain he would collapse as soon as he found the man he wanted to see. It wasn't until he stepped inside that he realized he'd never get upstairs without an appointment. But his luck hadn't run out just yet; Berthold Hawkeye stepped out of an elevator, blond hair slicked back in a ponytail and eyes narrow with disapproval when he spotted Roy.

"Mr. Hawkeye!" he called, ignoring the man's expression. "Can I have a word with you, sir? Just for a moment, I—"

"Come with me," Hawkeye said with an air of resignation. He reached back to call the elevator again, refusing to hear another word until the doors opened on the top floor, revealing an office Roy had hoped never to see again. He had come here once to ask for Hawkeye's blessing, but the man had turned him away, saying that no foster son of a barkeep deserved his daughter. Not one to ask the person he loved most to choose between her boyfriend and her father, Roy had enlisted in the army the next day. It had seemed the perfect distraction, as well as a way to earn back the life savings he had spent on an engagement ring.

"Let's get this over with," Hawkeye said, sitting at his desk.

Roy took the seat opposite him, hoping the other man couldn't hear his rapid heartbeat. "It's about Riza," he said. "I need to get in touch with her but she changed her phone number."

"Can you blame her?" Hawkeye asked. "You ran away like a coward and you think you can just come crawling back like this? Pathetic."

"Why do you hate me so much?"

Hawkeye laughed. "You're no more worthy of my hatred than you are of my daughter, although I think she feels differently on both counts." He pulled out a sheet of paper and scribbled something on it. "Here's her address, but I doubt it will do any good for either of you."

"Thank you, sir," Roy said. He took the paper then stepped out of the office.

He woke with a jolt, confused for a moment as to how the elevator had morphed into a stairwell.

"It keeps getting faster, doesn't it?" Fuery said sympathetically. "And it's hard, I know."

"How did it start for you?" Roy asked.

Fuery shrugged. "No idea. One minute I was fine, the next I wasn't. It all seems so random."

"Yeah, it does," Roy agreed, thinking of Falman's equations. He doubted Fuery had found a constant, but he didn't think he had time to explain it. The stream of blood from his nose was steady now; he probably didn't have much time left.

The trio stepped into the communications room to find a mass of tangled wires and broken machinery. "You did this?" the scarred man asked Fuery, who nodded. To Roy, he said, "You're going to explain yourself thoroughly once all of this is over."

"I will if you can you fix this," Roy said.

"I can. Do you have the number?"

"Not yet, I just need a little more time," Roy said. He glanced around the room, waiting for something to trigger another jump; a calendar hung slightly askew on the wall beside him. The first twenty three days of December were crossed off. "Is it really 2004?" Had he really forgotten eight whole years?

Fuery nodded weakly. "And it's almost Christmas too. What a way to spend it. Your nose is bleeding too."

"It is?" Roy reached up, felt the blood dripping from one nostril. This couldn't be the end. Fuery's nose had been bleeding for a while and he was still here. _Just a little longer,_ Roy thought, shaking his head.

He woke up right as the doors opened. Scrambling to his feet, he dashed out of the elevator. The address in his hand wasn't far away, but he hailed a cab anyway. He doubted he would have enough time to walk. The ride was over too soon; he had hardly even thought about what he would say to her. He paid the fare and stepped onto the curb.

It took several moments of standing on Riza's porch before he gathered the courage to knock. She answered so quickly he had a feeling she had been watching him through the curtains.

"Roy? How did you find me?" she asked, tucking a stray section of blonde hair behind her ear.

"Your father told me your address. You disconnected your phone and I had to talk to you," he said, wincing internally at the words. He sounded like a stalker.

"We talked about this," she said in a pinched voice. Her brown eyes wavered but she didn't seem to be on the verge of tears just yet. Maybe she was more angry than hurt. "After what you did to me, Roy, I need space. I need to move on."

Roy held out a hand to stop her before she could slam the door in his face. "Please wait just one more minute. All I want is your phone number, Riza."

"And why would I give it to you?" she asked, playing with her sleeve. At least she didn't have her hand on the door anymore.

He took a deep breath. "Because I made a mistake. I never should have broken up with you, Riza. I'm so, so sorry. I know it's too late to take it back now, but I miss you, and I need to ask a favor. It's going to sound really strange, but you've got to believe me."

"I'm listening, Roy," Riza said in a softer tone than before.

"I know it sounds crazy—I feel crazy—but you have to believe me. In eight years, I'm going to need to call you, and I can't do that unless I have your phone number."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "What?"

"Please, Riza, if there's still a chance you can forgive me, if you're still interested in me at all, I promise I won't bother you again for eight years. Christmas Eve, 2004, that's when I'll call, not a day sooner."

She sighed, placing her hand over her heart. "Alright," she conceded, and she told him the number.

"Thank you," Roy said. He repeated it several times under his breath.

"Would you like to write it down?" she asked. "I have a pen you can use. It seems silly not to after all the trouble you've gone through to find me."

He shook his head, letting out a sad sigh. "I wish I could, but it won't help. Do you promise you won't change it?"

"I won't," she said. "Please just go. Seeing you again, it hurts, Roy, and I have to go." She shut the door without even waiting for him to say goodbye.

"You woke up just in time," Fuery said, panting. His sleeve was stained with blood. "We just fixed it, but I don't know how long the battery'll last. Did you get the number?"

Roy nodded. "I just hope she answers." He dialed the number and pressed the phone against his ear. The phone rang several times and he feared the worst: that same emotionless recording he had heard in Falman's office or maybe just Riza's voicemail.

"Hello?" a familiar voice said after the fifth ring. She sounded a bit older, but he would recognize Riza's voice anywhere.

"Riza?" he asked.

"Roy?" she asked, astonished. "Is that really you?"

"It's me," he said. "And you—you kept the number after all."

"Of course I did," she said and he couldn't tell if she was about to laugh or cry. "Roy, where are you?"

He clutched the phone tighter, wishing he could hold her instead. "I'm—well—I'm on a boat, but there was an island, and my god it's good to hear your voice, Riza. You believed me? You still care about me?"

"Yes, yes, I do!" she said. "Roy, I've spent the last three years trying to find you. I was starting to think I was crazy—everyone else thought I was too—but then I found out about that island, and I talked to your friend Maes. That's how I knew you were still alive."

Roy's heart lurched painfully at the memory of that day; he couldn't remember it completely, and he wasn't sure he wanted to, but at least it was a sign that this was working. Static clogged the line for a moment and he was afraid the battery had died.

"Are you still there? Roy?" she asked.

"I'm here," he said. "Can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear," Riza said.

"I love you, Riza," he said, glad to finally be able to voice the words. If there was anything he knew, especially in his disoriented state after so many leaps through time, this was it. "I never stopped loving you. I was such an idiot, I know, and I should have told you before, I should never have left. I'm sorry, Riza."

"I love you too," she said. "And I swear I'll find you."

"I promise—" he began, but she cut him off.

"I won't stop looking. No matter what it takes, no matter how long—"

"I'll come back to you," he finished. The static came back and he was afraid he had lost her. "I love you," he said just in case, and as he spoke, he heard the same words in her voice. There was so much more he wanted to tell her, so much more he wanted to say, but the static buzzed in his ear and he knew she was gone. Even with the battery drained, he held on to the one connection he had to Riza. Someday, he knew, they would be together again. Someday, he would hug her closer than the phone in his trembling hands.


End file.
